


Ripped Lilac Masterpiece

by Vozana666



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Art, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 10:19:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8746513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vozana666/pseuds/Vozana666
Summary: Derek is a mentally ill artist and Stiles is an eager to learn and to please student who wants a future in the art industry. The two of them meet, with the intention of being purely mentor and student; but their relationship blossoms into something much more than either of them could have imagined.~NaNoWriMo 2016 Project - still in the early stages of editing~Inspired by the song: Colors by Halsey.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction is still in the process of editing due to the fact that it was a NaNoWriMo project. I finished NaNo early, but then I went to Queensland for two weeks so didn't have the time to edit. I've been looking forward to uploading this fanfiction onto here, so if you see any typos, please feel free to let me know in a polite way - I will not get offended whatsoever :)

Prologue

 

 

  
Stiles walked the halls of the art gallery, looking from one artist's’ work to another. The thing that was hard about him being an art student was the fact that he didn’t feel inspired by any of these works of art, but the reason that you came to art galleries was to get inspired for your next assignment piece. It had been his teachers idea to come here, it wasn't necessarily all Leonardo Di Vinci and Picasso, which he had gotten bored of Freshmen year. Particular rooms of this art gallery were dedicated to modern artists, some who even lived within Beacon Hills. He was in that part now, and nothing in particular was standing out to him.

He turned a corner into another small hall. There were nothing in there to be seen except some little notes saying that the place on the wall was reserved for another artists work, and then one massive canvas full of color.

It was a celtic symbol of some kind, colorful words that really meant nothing, at least to Stiles, swirled around it. The background appeared colorless at first, until you walked closer, you could see a blueish hue to it.

Out of all the other pieces around the gallery, this is the one that seemed to speak to him, and he had no idea why.

“I see you’ve found Derek Hale’s work,” said a voice from behind him, causing him to jump.

“Uh,” Stiles shrugged, “well, if that’s the guy who painted this, then I suppose I have,” he said dumbly.

The guard/tour guide had good enough manners to laugh.

“Yes. He doesn’t like his art being in the direct spotlight. He either likes it hidden, or blending in with everything else around it,” the man said, “my name is Rudie. Tour guide, security guard, admirer and friend of Derek Hale.”

“Then, how does his work get noticed?”

Rudie smiled, “well, you’re here, aren’t you?” he asked, cocking a brow, “Mr Hale has always been under the belief that anybody who needs to see his art will find a way to it,” he said, shrugging, “I’ve told him that’s always sounded pretentious, but, I suppose you’re here, so my next question is - what do you need?”

Stiles bit his lip and looked down at the floor, slightly embarrassed, “I uh. Need a mentor for my art project.”


	2. Chapter One

Chapter One

 

 

It was a hot summer day in Beacon Hills. Stiles was sitting under a large tree outside the museum he had just left. He was holding a brochure with a number written in black ink on the corner. He flipped the brochure over and over in his hands, tearing the edges anxiously, just no in the corner where the number sat. He didn’t know how to start the upcoming conversation, how to state his case sanely, how to sell himself and make him seem worth it.

It had been the art teachers’ idea at school for him to go to the museum and have a look at the different artists’ styles, for the sole purpose of inspiration. What he hadn’t expected was to actually find an art style that he liked, and he definitely didn’t expect for one of the tour givers to tell him to come to the front area and then give him the artist's number.

He expected it to be a prank, when he called the number he would hear the tour guides voice and he would laugh and Stiles would hang up, all pissed off and angry, and then he would walk home, and then he would think about it way too much and wouldn’t finish his project for class - because that’s how Stiles worked.

But as he stared on the numbers on his phones’ screen, he realized he couldn’t just not call the number. Because if he didn’t, he would go back with no ideas for his project, he’d hand in another mediocre piece of work, and he would constantly be wondering, ‘what if’?

He put in the number, but didn’t press the call button. He felt stupid being so nervous. It was just an artist. The most famous artist in Beacon Hills. No big deal.

He was about to turn the screen off and just forget about calling him, when his hand slipped and made the decision of calling the artist for him.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Stiles said, grabbing the phone off of the grass where it had fallen and picking it up, just in time to hear, ‘hello?’

“Uh, yeah, hi,” Stiles said, lifting the phone to his ear nervously, “um, my name is Stiles. A tour guide at the Beacon Hills Art Museum gave me your number-.”

“His name is Rudie,” the voice at the other end said, sounding a little amused, “he normally gives out my number to people who he thinks I might think are worthy of mentoring.”

“Oh,” Stiles said, swallowing harshly, he felt a panic attack coming on, “well, that’s perfect, because that’s exactly what I need - mentoring. See, I have an assignment due-.”

“I’ll text you the address of a café near the museum, meet me there, we’ll talk.”

And then the guy hung up.

Stiles sighed, putting his phone behind his leg in the grass. All that nervousness, for a few seconds of slightly condescending conversation.

He didn’t know how well this conversation with Derek Hale was going to go, but he hoped it was going to go better than the phone call did.

  
(***)

  
Derek Hale was a tall dark haired man with purposely styled stubble. He wore a gray cardigan, white shirt and dark jeans that gave him an equal look of both laid back and sophisticated. As he sat down in front of Stiles, Stiles thought of smart, witty, anything non-dorkish to say.

“Hi,” Stiles said, sounding nervous and berating himself for sounding so. So much for smart and witty.

“Hello,” Derek said, crossing one leg over the other, “I have to ask, is your real name Stiles?”

Stiles shook his head, “nah, just a nickname. I didn’t like my real name. So people just call me Stiles. Stiles Stilinski.”

Derek nodded slowly, “I like it. It shows initiative. It’s unique.”

Stiles didn’t know what to say. To him it was just a nickname that he’d come up with because people struggled to pronounce his first name correctly on the first go. Or the second. Sometimes, even the third.

“So, what did you want to talk about Stiles?” Derek asked, just as his coffee was delivered to him. He thanked the waiter and watched the man walk away. Stiles wondered whether Derek was looking at the waiters ass.

“Well, I need a mentor or whatever you called it,” Stiles said, “I have a project due in college, but I would like the piece to say something about me - and possibly take me further than a simple A grade.”

“What do you mean by that?” Derek asked, “is your school offering positions in a show or-.”

“I want it to get my name out there as an artist,” Stiles said. That sounded lame, childish, he inwardly cringed, “the school isn’t offering a competition or anything, but I thought ‘hey, why not hit two birds with one stone?’”

“Alright,” Derek said slowly. Stiles hoped he wasn’t boring the guy to death. He knew he wasn’t very impressive.

Then he remembered he brought his portfolio with him.

“I know you can’t judge a persons’ artist worth purely off meeting them,” Stiles said, “I also know you didn’t ask me to bring it, but I had it with me anyway - I brought my portfolio full of my work. Some of it is for school, some of it have been paid requests, some of it has just been because I can. Because I actually enjoy art. I didn’t just realize one day that I was good at it and wanted a check for it.”

Derek leaned forward for it, and before Stiles could chicken out, he practically threw it at the man. Luckily for Stiles, Derek had good reflexes and caught it easily, without even damaging it in the process. Stiles felt his cheeks heat up and he looked away just as he saw, in the corner of his eye, Derek open the portfolio.

The man was silent for a few minutes, only moving to either turn the page or take a sip of his coffee. Stiles was steadily growing more nervous as time passed with no visible signs of pleasure, interest or even surprise coming from Derek.

Stiles was almost ready to fly over the small table and grab the portfolio from Derek, telling him to not worry about it and that he was sorry for wasting his time, when Derek finally turned over the last page and closed the portfolio.

“I think your art is unique, and you’re not just stuck on the one style. You’ve done portraits, self-portraits, color themes, shapes and-,” he shook his head, “what I’m trying to say here is that I think you have what it takes to make it out there, and I’d really like to help you achieve that.”

Stiles’ mouth opened and closed several times while he thought of how to respond, but nothing intelligent, or even sane, came to mind.

“I-uh-thank you, so much, really,” Stiles stammered, “I um…wow okay, yep,” he nodded and took the portfolio back, before taking a sip of his own coffee. He did so too fast, and spilled a little on his shirt, which Derek immediately noticed. Stiles felt his cheeks heat up again, in embarrassment.

“I confess, I had a good feeling about you just from talking to you on the phone,” Derek said, “you didn’t sound up yourself. You sounded human, and like you were actually willing to listen and accept help.”

Stiles laughed, “I don’t see the point in calling you if all I was going to do was disagree with your expertise.”

“You’ll be surprised how many times people have done so in the past,” Derek said, his lip curling up in an amused half smile, “I would like to talk about your piece more right now, but unfortunately, I don’t have much longer before I have to go drop my sister off at the airport,” Derek took a final sip of his coffee before relaxing back into his seat, “so any quick, easy to answer questions you have, feel free to ask me now.”

Stiles froze, he’d had plenty of questions earlier, in fact his mind had literally been drowning in them and he was surprised none of them had just randomly slipped out - but now that it was an appropriate time to ask, he really couldn’t think of anything other than…

“Why do you do it?” Stiles asked, hastily.

Derek cocked up one brow, “do what?” he asked, “help others?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, nodding. He noticed that his fingertips were drumming lightly on his thigh. Nervous habit, “I mean, as you said, you’ve had people come to help then refuse to listen to you, and even then, just because you’re good at what you do, to the point where your work has been featured in museums and bars and wherever else - there isn’t an unseen rule or whatever saying that you have to help other people get out there. You’ve already accomplished it, so who cares from that moment - right?”

Derek looked thoughtful for a moment, “was that just one question?” Derek asked, his tone amused.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said sheepishly.

“Look,” Derek said, leaning forward slightly, and Stiles found him doing the same, “the way I see it, yes, I’m out there - so what else do I do now? To feel that same feeling of accomplishment I get every time I see something I worked hard on out there, in the walls of bars and clubs, museums, hell, even hospital waiting rooms - I help other people achieve the same thing, and I get this feeling of second hand accomplishment.”

“Have you helped anyone so far?” Stiles asked.

Derek grimaced, “admittedly, no. Nobody likes to listen long enough.”

Derek looked down at his watch as Stiles processed this information, then slowly stood up, “I have to go pick up my sister and take her to the airport, but, I’ll message you my address when I can,” Derek said, “and before I go - am I able to look over this some more?” he said, pointing down at the portfolio that was sitting on Stiles’ lap.

Stiles bit his lip and nodded, “yeah, sure,” he said. Surely Derek wouldn’t change his mind, right?

“Thanks,” Derek said, grabbing it as Stiles handed it to him, “I’ll try and contact you tomorrow.”

Stiles nodded one last time and with that, Derek walked out of the café. Stiles found it hard trying to catch his breath, not knowing how to react. Excited? Or should he just wait it out until he knew for sure Derek wanted to mentor him?

He picked up his bag which felt lighter now that his portfolio was with Derek, and walked out of the café feeling nervous about what was to come.


	3. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been busy lately and it was my birthday on the ninth of December, so I haven't been able to update. But here's the second chapter! Once again, please alert me of any typos - but in a nice way.

Chapter Two

 

His phone went off at six in the morning, and Stiles would have been annoyed if it weren’t for the fact that it was a message from Derek, with his address, telling him to come over at nine am.

He felt excited then, surely he was allowed to now? He had been waiting for a sign that Derek was no longer interested in mentoring him, and it appeared that Stiles had been dreading it for no reason. Derek was interested in helping him, he wasn’t turning Stiles away.

He got out of bed and quickly went for a shower, feeling energetic in a way he normally wouldn’t at six in the morning. He went downstairs, planning on making himself coffee. He almost gave his dad a heart attack when he walked into the kitchen.

“You’re up early!” his dad exclaimed, then looked down at his watch, “really early.”

Stiles shrugged, “yeah, sorry,” he started making himself a coffee, “I have stuff I really gotta do today, so I thought it would be better to wake up early and be prepared,” Stiles lied. He didn’t know why he had, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to tell his dad yet.

His dad looked at him suspiciously, but didn’t say anything.

“Well. I have to head off to work now,” he said, putting his mug on the sink and straightening the sheriff’s badge on his chest, “I hope you have a good day,” he said before placing a light kiss to his sons’ forehead, “if you need me, lemme know,” he muttered, before heading out the door with his keys. Stiles knew what his dad meant by that - if he got into trouble he was to call his dad right away.

He hoped he wasn’t about to get into some form of trouble.

  
(***)

  
Derek’s place was huge. The walls were a freshly painted white and on them sat paintings from artists Stiles had never heard of before. They were paintings of political opinions and figures, landscapes of places you could only possibly imagine, there was even one of a guys signature, blown up, and painted in several different colors.

“You don’t display any of your own art in your home?” Stiles asked, sitting down on the black leather lounge gingerly, worried he might somehow ruin it.

“I don’t like to because it seems narcissistic,” Derek said with a small shrug, slowly putting Stiles’ mug of coffee on the coffee table, “instead, I like to show off the artwork of artists I personally know. I didn’t necessarily attempt to help them - some of them never even asked for my help. But I still show my support either way,” he said. He then smiled at Stiles, “maybe one day one of your pieces will be up on my wall.”

Stiles choked on his coffee, causing Derek to laugh at his reaction. Once Stiles settled down, he started talking again.

“I know last time we didn’t really get the chance to talk about your upcoming piece,” Derek said, “sorry about that - my sister refused to pay for a taxi,” he rolled his eyes, “so I thought today you could tell me what you want your piece to represent.”

“I want it to represent how many large curly fries I can eat in the one sitting,” Stiles said sarcastically. Though, Derek didn’t seem all that amused.

“I want it to represent myself and everything I’ve been through,” Stiles said honestly, “the way I see it, if I want to get out there as an artist, why not get it all out in the open from the very beginning?”

  
"Because if you let it all out at the very beginning, then nobody wants to get to know you," Derek said, "you have to suck them in - get them to know you as a person, but not too well. Then you let everything out. Make them love you before they know your dark history."

Stiles slumped against the couch looking defeated, "okay, so, no to my piece representing myself-."

"I never said it shouldn't represent who you are as a person," Derek said, "but maybe don't do a total character study on it - explain a little bit about it, but don't reveal everything."

Stiles sighed and gave it some thought. It made sense, people got attached to people and celebrities because they were either attractive or talented and from that moment on, they wanted to know more about the person. If Stiles let everything out in the open, then who would want to stay attached to a book that they had already been read a million times? There was still some mystery surrounding artists like Leonardo Di Vinci, so why shouldn't Stiles try and do the same?

"Alright," Stiles cleared his throat, "I hope you have an empty space ready on your wall."

  
(***)

  
When Stiles got home he felt a small sense of pride. They'd brainstormed a lot today about different color schemes and different little things to go in the background of the main piece, that could hint about the things that Stiles had been through, but would leave it open enough for people to speculate without them thinking they had figured it all out.

Stiles hadn't been this excited about something in a long time, he was ashamed to admit. His life nowadays consisted mostly of school and home, and the activities that he participated in within both buildings were becoming increasingly dull.

The sense of pride he was feeling swelled inside him, and with that came a feeling of freedom.

  
(***)

  
When his dad got home, he asked how Stiles' day had been, and for some reason - despite Stiles knowing he was doing nothing wrong - he still didn't tell his dad what he had been up to. Stiles had to question whether he was secretly ashamed about his enthusiasm for this project.

"Sounds like a fun day," his dad replied when Stiles had said, 'not much,' "it was a busy day down at the station."

"Yeah?" Stiles asked, looking up from his laptop, where he had been looking up the technical names for a lot of the color schemes he and Derek had come up with earlier, "what's been happening?"

"Well, we found another body in the woods," his dad said, sounding solemn, "like the one we found-."

"Three years ago," Stiles said, "yeah, I remember, me and Scott went looking for it."

The sheriff cocked up a brow, "how did you even know which half you were looking for?"

Stiles smiled, "we didn't - we sort of just figured, 'hey, how many half-bodies can there really be in the woods?'"

His dad shrugged and finished making himself a coffee, he took a sip, appeared satisfied, and walked off into the lounge room before sitting down and watching TV. Stiles watched as his dad did this, wondering if maybe he should tell him.

He didn't.

  
(***)

  
"These assignments are killing me, man," Scott said, looking down at the book in front of him.

Stiles and Scott were sitting in the library, at a desk away from the other students reading and writing down notes for whatever homework they were supposed to be finishing. Stiles was reading back and fourth, reading between reading art books and science books, while Scott was stuck on Shakespeare and occasionally sighing in exasperation.

"I was actually considering faking my death this morning, just so I could get a day off of school," Scott said sounding like he was dead bored, "I figured that the next day, people would be too happy to see I was actually alive to question anything - but then I realized I would actually have to use the day to study otherwise I would just get even more behind - then faking my death didn't really seem worth it."

"That was the thing that indicated faking your death was a bad idea?" Stiles said with amusement, "how about the fact that you suck at lying?"

Stiles smirked as Scott poked his tongue out and looked back down at his English book.

"I don't understand half of what these words mean," Scott said, "you think they would come up with a guide to understanding Shakespeare-."

"Check the back of the book," Stiles said, "it's kind of like an index, but it's exactly what you just explained."

Scott did as he was told and opened the book to the back last few pages, then sighed, "I hate it when you're right."

Stiles chuckled and wrote down a note for his art project accidentally in his science note section. He erased the note and quickly fixed it back up. He looked up to complain to Scott but something else caught his eye instead.

"Hey," Malia said, holding her own borrowed text books and a few blank sheets of paper.

"Hey Malia-," Scott said, glancing at Stiles who was glaring at him.

"What are you doing here?" Stiles asked bluntly, turning his gaze towards Malia, who looked frozen in place - unsure of what was happening and what to do.

"Scott invited me here," Malia said, "said you'd both be able to help me out with my homework."

Stiles turned and glared at Scott again, "seriously Scott? What the fuck!"

His voice echoed around the library and a lot of people studying in the downstairs portion of the library looked up at the three of them. Normally Stiles would shrink down and feel embarrassed, but this time he couldn't bring himself to - instead he was too busy seeing red.

"Look," Scott said, putting his bookmark in and closing the book, "I just thought-."

"Well, fun fact Scotty, as per usual, you were wrong," Stiles said, closing his books and tucking his pencil in his pocket before standing up and grabbing all of his stuff off of his desk, "I will deal with her," Stiles said, glancing once again at Malia, "when I'm ready, but for now - stay out of my fucking business."

  
(***)

  
Stiles didn't cut the rest of the day off school like he desperately wanted to. Instead, he set about ignoring Scott, Malia (though, that was nothing new), and even Lydia for the rest of the day, and definitely made it known he was ignoring them within their shared classes. He felt bad ignoring Scott, who was only trying to get the group back together, but at the same time he didn't like how Scott had gone about it. It had been awkward for Stiles, and he had been left feeling unprepared in the situation - so he had acted out.

When he got home, he started feeling angry about it again, and the weather that had progressively gone from sunny to thunderstorm weather by the time he had finished driving home wasn't helping his mood either.

He wished he could go to the art studio in his school and get rid of some pent up anger - but it was only open to students after school on Wednesdays.

He looked at the address pinned to his cork board and decided there was only really one place where he could blow off some steam.

  
(***)

  
Stiles felt bad because he had showed up unannounced. He stood on the doorstep of Derek's place wondering if he should just go home. He felt less irritated now and he really shouldn't be bothering the guy without at least giving him some warning that he was coming over.

But before he got the chance to go back to his car and drive home, the front door opened and Derek Hale stood there, in some old faded and ripped blue jeans, and with paint all over his naked upper torso.

"Hey Stiles, you alright?" he asked, giving Stiles a small smile.

Stiles looked up from the colors and smudges on Derek's chest, up to the mans' face, "yeah," he said, "I um...I wasn't, but I feel a lot better now."

Derek nodded, "come in. I'll make you some coffee, tea, hot chocolate, whatever - and we'll talk about it."


	4. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

 

  
Stiles had drunken at least half of his coffee before he started talking, but once he started he found he really couldn't stop - Derek was easy to talk to - because he wasn't a complete stranger but at the same time, Stiles didn't know him that well.

"I just hated the fact that he felt like he could do that," Stiles said, "he knew that Malia hurt me and yet he's still trying to play some warped version of 'Happy Families,' and no matter what I say about Malia, how much I complain, he still tries. He's always been persistent, and there has been times where I've admired that about him, but now - when I'm still trying to get over how much she hurt me - it just feels like he's trying to break me more. Like Malia didn't do a good enough job of destroying me to begin with," Stiles muttered, looking over Derek's shoulder rather than straight at him.

He shifted in his seat, "I don't know, maybe I'm just being melodramatic. I mean; I love Scott - he's like the brother I never had. But that doesn't really give him the right to play around with my relationships and try and fix things I'm not ready to attempt fixing - right? It was my relationship. Not his."

"You're right," Derek said, taking a sip of his own coffee, which must have been the last because he then placed the mug in the sink, "it's unfair that he did that, but at least you understand that really - he was just trying to help. It wasn't a personal attack against you."

"Of course I realize that," Stiles muttered, "Scott has no reason to want to hurt me. But, neither did Malia - but she did that anyway."

"Hmm," there was a moment of silence, where Stiles tried to finish his coffee as quickly as he could, and Derek seemed to stare off into space. He was starting to wonder if maybe he had said something wrong when Derek looked down at him again.

"You need to use these emotions somehow - instead of stewing in them, push them out into something creative."

"Like art?" Stiles said, placing his now empty mug on the breakfast bar.

"Exactly like art."

Derek walked around the breakfast bar and grabbed Stiles' hand, making him get off the breakfast bar, "I think it's time I introduce you to one of my art studios."

Stiles cocked up a brow, trying to ignore the feeling of Derek's hand holding his, "one of them? Isn't more than one a little...excessive?"

"It's come in handy for when people need to blow off some steam while I'm in the middle of blowing off some of my own," Derek said, indicating the colorful smudges on his chest, "this way," he said, pointing down a hallway which had a bunch of colorful paintings on the wall, but only two other entrances on opposites sides of each other.

They entered the left one, which was spotless, not a mark of paint anywhere, which Stiles found odd. There were still paint stains in his carpet from the multiple times that Stiles had either spilled paint, or gotten a little too enthusiastic with it.

There were three different easels, each holding a blank canvas, and behind them a massive white sheet. Along the wall were many different sized brushes. There were shelves in the wall, which had other things like scrapbooks, art books, more brushes and a different assortment of oil, acrylic, even children's glitter paints.

It was an artists Heaven.

On the other side of the room, there were things like smocks, gloves, a trough where you could clean your brushes and presumably, your hands. scrap pieces of paper and newspapers, glue, and even a place to shape and mould clay.

"This is amazing," Stiles whispered. He was sure his eyes were bugging out of his head and that looked like a total idiot - but he didn't really care.

"It comes in handy. For whenever someone is angry, and for people who are willing to stay here long enough to actually do some work here," Derek said. Stiles turned around to face him and found Derek leaning against one of the shelves, "you'll be doing a lot of your work here if you want."

He pointed up at something on the wall and Stiles looked up and noticed speakers, "the room is soundproof, so if you want you can play music in here while you work," Derek said, "hell, if you want, scream - yell at it. Get out all of your frustrations."

"They need more places like these for the general public," Stiles said, "it's brilliant."

"I'm glad you think so," Derek said, giving Stiles a genuinely pleased smile.

Stiles stood there continuing to look at everything in the room. He couldn't wait to use it all and he wondered what he was going to come up with first.

"I'll leave you to it then," Derek said, "if you need me, I'll be in the other studio," he paused, "don't just walk in though, and if you knock I won't be able to hear you - but there's a buzzer on the door that will override the speakers - so just hit that and I'll meet you in the hall."

He opened the door and leaned out for a moment, then pressed something on the wall. A loud buzzing sound came through all the speakers in the room, even shaking the walls a little, "I'll do the same for you if you'd like," Derek said.

Stiles nodded, "that'd be great."

Stiles turned back to looking at the paints and went to ask a question, only to find that Derek was already gone.

Stiles shrugged and walked towards the shelves and pulled out a bunch of paints, looking at the brand. It was an expensive one, and Stiles almost felt worried about wasting the paint. He wondered whether he would have to pay Derek back for all the stuff that he would use during their time together. But then, Stiles shook his head. If he needed to pay Derek back, he would, even if it meant going on some kind of payment plan. But for now - he needed this. He needed to do something with his hands and create something with his anger which was starting the slowly bubble up again, the more he thought about Malia and the situation at the library, the angrier he got.

He pulled out more paints of multiple different colors, and brushes of multiple different sizes, and was ready to start when he found a packet of balloons and what looked like darts. Then another idea filled his head, and he got rid of some of paints and brushes and put them back in their shelves. He got some sticky tape, filled the balloons with different colored paints, and stuck them to the sheet on the wall, which turned out not to just be some regular sheet, but a massive piece of paper, specifically meant for this purpose.

He moved the easels out of the way and started throwing darts and the paint filled balloons. He missed a few times, which he would have been embarrassed by if somebody had been watching, but he strode towards the wall instead, without shame, took the dart out, moved back and threw it again. A massive balloon a little over the others explodes with bright lime green paint. It dripped all over the other balloons and over the white paper satisfyingly, making something in Stiles seem to sag. He was already feeling less pressure.

He threw another dart, red paint.

Another, blue paint.

Another, gray.

Another, yellow.

White  
Purple  
Pink  
Orange  
Dark green

Before Stiles knew it, he was out of paint filled balloons, and there were more than a few darts still stuck in the wall. He'd gotten stuck in the moment, metaphorically drowning in the paint that had started pouring down the paper and onto the white papered floor.

There was a buzzing over the speaker and Stiles clumsily dropped the rest of the darts in his hands. He quickly picked them back up and stashed them in the shelves before heading over to the door and opening it.

Derek was standing in the hall, leaning against his door coolly, "how did you go in there?"

"Uh, yeah, alright," Stiles said, "I haven't been in there for long but-."

"You've been in there for two hours Stiles," Derek said, looking amused.

Stiles raised his eyebrows in disbelief, then looked down at his watch. It had in fact been two hours, almost three.

"I was wondering," Stiles said, breaking the silence, "do I have to uhh...pay you back for any of the supplies I've used?"

Derek cocked up a brow, making Stiles a little nervous.

"I probably should have asked before I started, I'm so sorry-."

"You don't," Derek said, "if one of my students annoy me, then yes, maybe, but you don't annoy me."

Stiles slowly nodded. The answer was brutally honest, and maybe even a little mean - but he was grateful about the fact that all this angry art making wasn't leading up to a massive bill and a shitty payment plan.

"What did you end up using, if you don't mind me asking?"

Stiles bit his lip, "balloons...and darts. I've always wanted to do something like that."

Derek nodded, "people usually use the balloons for paper mache, so it's nice to see someone else use them for a different purpose."

"So, what are the darts for?" Stiles asked.

Derek smirked, "for the person who figures balloons have more purpose than for setting glued newspaper."

  
(***)

  
There wasn't much cleaning up Stiles had to do. He was told to leave his art in there, and Derek would figure out what to do with it, which made Stiles both insecure, but happy that he didn't have to wait for the sheet of paper to dry and then find a way to get it back home without ruining it.

He washed his hands and watched some tiny specks of paint he had picked up while getting darts out of the wall, fall into the sink and turn into swirls of colors. It was satisfying to watch and after he was done he quickly dried his hands and made his way back into the lounge room, where Derek was sitting waiting for him.

"So, you look a lot calmer," Derek said, "so I assume it worked."

Stiles hadn't actually paid much attention to his mood after his little session, but found he did in fact feel a little better, and when he thought about what had happened in the library earlier, he didn't feel that same anger rising up inside him as it had before. There was definitely something in the art of popping paint filled balloons with darts.

"I feel a lot better, yeah," Stiles said, "I still feel a bit bad about just popping up without notifying you first."

"Normally I would be irritated by that," Derek said, "but not with you. If you want to warn me, feel free. But I like your surprises."

Stiles nodded slowly, the words turning over and over in his mind. What made him so special?

"I should be getting home soon," Stiles said, "I've been here for hours and my dad will be home from work soon."

Derek nodded, standing up and stretching. He still didn't wear a shirt and the splotches of color had increased. Stiles tried to keep his eyes on Derek's face instead of his torso, even though he so desperately wanted to try and create a picture with his mind out of all the different colors on the older mans' chest.

"I'll walk you out," Derek said, giving him a small smile and heading towards the front door. Stiles rushed so he could walk beside instead of behind him.

"Feel free to pop over whenever," Derek said, once Stiles walked outside into the cool night air, "I mean it."

Stiles smiled, giving a small shrug, "alright," he said, "I will."


	5. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the fact that I haven't posted in a while. My life has been pretty hectic with my girlfriend soon moving in, and I gotta say Sherlock is fucking me up lmao. 
> 
> Enjoy this chapter. I love you all. Please feel free to comment and stuff, I don't bite.

Chapter Four

  
It had been hard admitting that he had been rude and had overreacted, but he did it, not even choking on the words as he said them. Scott automatically forgave him for his outburst, and well, Stiles had really already forgiven Scott and he was sure Scott knew that.

"What are you doing this afternoon?" Scott asked, "I promise - no Malia."

"I was going to uhh..." Stiles hadn't told Scott about Derek and how he was getting help for his art assignment. It wasn't like he was hiding it from him, like he was kind of hiding it from his dad, it had just never come up and now he felt like it was too late to talk about it, "you know what, never mind, what did you have in mind?"

Scott sighed, "not gonna lie, just lame studying, but it's easier when we're not in the library surrounded by a bunch of other students - besides, mom misses you."

Stiles sighed, he hadn't been over at the McCall house much ever since what had happened, "sounds good to me," he said, putting his arm over Scott's shoulders, "I hope your mom is prepared to cook for about four people - I forgot to bring lunch money today."

"You say that like my mom wouldn't have had to cook for four if you had remembered to bring your lunch money," Scott said, giving Stiles an amused look as Stiles smacked the back of his head playfully.

  
(***)

  
Stiles and Scott had studied for a while in Scott’s room, trying the pass the time until it was dinner time. Scott had made some leeway with his Shakespeare assignment, and admittedly he’d had help from both Lydia and Stiles’ notes.

Stiles, Scott and Melissa were now sitting at the kitchen table, eating spaghetti bolognas, Scott was talking about how he didn’t understand why studying Shakespeare was important due to the fact that nobody spoke Shakespearian anymore, Stiles was arguing the fact that if a Shakespearian time traveler ever came to this point in time, then Scott would be thankful that he had studied Shakespearian language in order to understand the time traveler, and Melissa was watching the two of them battle it out with amused fondness.

“So, Stiles - what have you been up to recently?” Melissa asked after taking a sip of her drink, which was usually a glass of wine if she didn’t have to work, but was instead a glass of water.

“Well, uh, not much really,” Stiles shrugged, “trying to work on my art project a little - but I have no solid ideas at the moment.”

“He’s being mentored by this mega famous art guy in Beacon Hills,” Scott said, while twirling his fork in his spaghetti, “for free as well,” he put the forkful of spaghetti in his mouth and started to chew.

“Is he teaching you anything new?” Melissa asked, “or just helping you with what you already know?”

“Helping me with what I already know,” Stiles said, “that’s why it’s free - also because it wasn’t really a necessity…I just wanted the help.”

Melissa nodded, though he could see she looked confused. She had always been obsessed with Stiles’ art, sometimes making requests for things she could put in the house. A few of the canvas paintings had been done by him and even one little statue thing - which Stiles personally hated, but Melissa had insisted on keeping it at the time, and it sat proudly on one of the shelves in the lounge room - a nightmarish reminder of the mutant Stiles had created in a spur of moment to make something that wasn’t a painting or drawing.

“It’s been a great help learning new techniques to things I already knew,” Stiles pressed on, “seeing my work from different angles and perspectives.”

“Stiles wants to be a proper artist,” Scott said, having obviously finished his mouthful, “and he thinks this Derek Hale guy is going to be able to help him achieve fame or something.”

Melissa’s eyes widened, “Derek Hale? Impressive.”

Scott frowned, “huh?”

Melissa smiled and rolled her eyes, “I’ve met Derek a few times. In the hospital, for multiple reasons, including selling his art. I even ran into him at a bar once.”

Scott seemed to pale, “please tell me you didn’t sleep with him.”

Melissa glared, “Scott!”

Scott flinched, “I was kidding. Sorta.”

“He’s a nice guy,” Melissa said, turning back to Stiles, “a little misunderstood, but once you get past his past and everything - you can see that he’s a brilliant mind. I personally can’t afford one of his paintings, but I get yours for free which is even better.”

Scott rolled his eyes and shoved his finger down his throat and started making fake gagging noises.

“I’ll see if I can maybe get you one of his pieces for free,” Stiles said, “or cheap. I’ll pay for it, if so.”

“You don’t need to do that-,” Melissa started to say, but Scott cut her off.

“Do it, make it her birthday present,” Scott said with an amused look, “and make sure to put my name on the birthday card.”

  
(***)

  
"I'm surprised you didn't come over yesterday," Derek said, walking into the lounge room with a stack of paper. Stiles looked up from his phone, where he had been texting Scott about plans for tomorrow. He stashed the phone in his pocket, not even finishing the message he had been typing out.

"Well, I went over to a friends house to study," Stiles said, "then I stayed over for dinner - they're basically my second family and they haven't seen me over there for a while because..."

"Because of Malia," Derek finished off for him. Stiles nodded.

"She put you into quite a slump, didn't she," Derek said, sitting down and putting the stacks of paper on the coffee table between them, "you didn't even tell me what happened between the two of you."

Stiles shrugged awkwardly, "I didn't think you would want to hear about pathetic teenage crap," he said, "you're an adult, this type of stuff is trivial to you now."

Derek chuckled, "in some countries, namely Australia, you'd be classed as an adult," he said, "besides - I went through my own stupid teenage crap as a teenager. I'm not a condescending adult who thinks petty shit is behind me now, and that I can do no wrong," he said, "but I can tell you it isn't the end of the world, even if you think it is."

Stiles nodded. He'd heard the same thing from his dad on numerous ocassions, but it seemed more believeable coming from Derek considering he was a lot younger.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Derek asked, "it might help."

"Who are you, my therapist?" Stiles joked.

Derek shrugged, "I've been to enough therapists to have a basic idea of what to say," he said, he leaned forward and in a condescending tone said, "and Stiles...how does that make you feel?"

Stiles laughed loudly, hearty and unselfconscious. It made him feel good and even more comfortable in Derek's company.

After he finished, he sighed and slumped against the couch again, feeling the black leather underneath his hands, "yeah, I guess I should probably talk about it," he said, "Scott feels the need to try and be a neutral party, even though I know for a fact he's on my side, and well...." he bit his lip, "I haven't really told my dad how bad the break-up really was."

"Why?" Derek asked, crossing one leg over the other.

"I just," he shook his head, "not important right now."

Derek waited for more and Stiles felt oddly obligated to tell him.

"She cheated on me," Stiles said, "like, it wasn't bad enough the fact that she cheated on me, but I walked in on it happening, and then I found out it had been going on for ages, right under my nose - I wasn't even suspecting it."

Derek sat stone faced through out the whole retelling of how Stiles found out about Malia cheating on him. He sat through the gory details, even when Stiles was worried he'd given out too much information. When Stiles was done though, he felt comfortable, like a weight had lifted off of his shoulders. And the most surprising part was the factt hat he didn't feel weird around Derek at all.

"And then, I don't know, everything I felt for her just got replaced by anger," Stiles said, drumming his fingers along the tight leather of the couch, "I couldn't even try to make things good again, because any love I had had for her just got replaced. Even the mention of her name or a name close to hers just...made my blood boil," he laughed, "I felt so sorry for my dad at that point. It took me forever to tell him that we'd broken up, so sometimes when I'd come home from school, he would ask how Malia was and when she was coming over for dinner next," he shook his head.

"By not telling your dad, in a way, you were hurting yourself even more," Derek said, "I'm sure your dad would have more than understood - yeah, the lecture might have been awkward. But he would have known not to mention that name again."

Stiles nodded, "but the thing is, I'm not even angry about hearing her name any more," Stiles said, then he smiled, "and I think it's all thanks to your theraputic art studio."

Derek beamed, "well, I'm glad."

  
(***)

  
"His name is Derek, and he's been helping me out with my art assignment, because I want it to help me get out there, more than I actually want to get an A grade out of it."

He was sitting at his kitchen table and his dad was sitting in front of him, and Scott was sitting on the side. His dad was quiet for a moment and Scott was looking around the room, anywhere but at Stiles.

"What?" Stiles asked, "what's wrong?"

"I'm assuming you're talking about Derek Hale?" his dad asked, cocking up a brow. Stiles nodded.

"He's kind of notorious around here, dude," Scott said, shrugging, "that's all."

"Well, yeah," Stiles said, confused, "he's a famous artist, I've seen his artwork all over the place. Bars-."

"What were you doing in a bar?" his dad asked, but Stiles cut him off.

"Art museums-."

"I'm not talking about his art fame," Scott said slowly, "before he got famous for his art, he was kind of a reckless guy. He used to trash monuments in town, break into people's houses, scream at people as they walked past them in the street - he even beat up a random guy for fun."

Stiles froze.

"Stiles?" his dad asked, looking at him with concern.

"No," Stiles said, "that doesn't sound like the Derek I know, at all."

"And who is the Derek you know?" his dad asked, "just a normal guy living in a flashy house who just so happens to help random kids with their art projects?" he shook his head, "you've found lesser things a lot fishier Stiles. I think you're being blind."

"Why would I be being blind?!" Stiles asked, getting irritated, "I have no reason to be blind-."

"Maybe because of your project and how badly you want to succeed?" Scott said, though it sounded more like a question than a statement.

"Or maybe, it's because you like him," his dad said, "and not just necessarily as a friend."

Stiles stood up, pushing his chair back so hard it almost landed on the floor, "you're crazy," Stiles muttered, "he's just my mentor. He's gonna help me become something. He's going to help me make something of my life."

He walked out of the kitchen and headed to the front door, where his keys were waiting for him.

"Stiles, wait-!"

He slammed the front door behind him and ran to his jeep, driving off before anyone could stop him.


	6. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry I've taken so long to upload, unfortunately it hasn't been the case of this chapter being written - simply just me forgetting the fact that I had even started uploading this one online. I'm sorry that it's taken me this long to realise, I've been incredibly busy lately, but here's a long chapter for you all to enjoy. 
> 
> Remember to review.

Chapter Five

 

 

  
He pounded his fist on Derek's front door. It had started raining heavily by the time he'd driven to Derek's place and he was already soaked from head to toe in rain water.

The door opened and Derek stood there, looking confused and even a little alarmed.

"Stiles..?"

"Who the fuck are you?" Stiles snapped, leaning against the door frame so Derek couldn't close it, "who. fucking. are. you?"

Stiles was waiting for something, but he wasn't sure what. For Derek to run? For him to stutter and explain slowly everything without Stiles even having to ask? What he hadn't expected was for Derek to sigh and open the door wider, "I've been waiting for this," he heard Derek mutter to himself.

Despite his anger and everything he had heard, Stiles found himself walking inside Derek's now all too familiar lounge room anyway, sitting down in his favorite spot, not caring if he was going to get told off for sitting on the leather while his clothes were drenched.

He looked up when he noticed that Derek hadn't reappeared, and for a moment he wondered if maybe Derek had in fact run off, into the street, driven away with his car, or worse - Stiles' jeep. But then he felt the keys in his pockets and felt like an idiot for thinking that.

Derek came back in a few seconds later, holding two steaming mugs. Once again, despite his better judgment, Stiles took a sip of the hot drink and found himself drinking hot chocolate, much to his surprise. So far every beverage he had had here was either water, soda, or coffee.

"What would you like to know, Stiles?" Derek said, sitting down across from him in his usual spot, putting his own hot drink down on the coffee table, on a coaster.

"Everything," Stiles said, placing his mug down a little forcefully, completing ignoring the coaster there and even spilling a little bit of hot chocolate onto the coffee table. He could Derek flinch slightly and even look irritated, but despite that he kept his composure.

"What have you been told?"

"I've been told that basically, a few years ago, you were a raving fucking lunatic," Stiles said, intending to be as harsh as he could possibly muster, "besides, why the fuck do you help young people anyway? Are you some sicko or something?!"

"I help people because I want to see them succeed like I did, I told you that," Derek said. He looked calm, but Stiles could hear the underlying tone of something menacing in his voice. He tried not to feel scared, he had to keep pushing, there had to be an explanation for Derek's behavior in the past, and being forceful was the only way to get it out of him, Stiles was sure of it.

"Then what's with the beating up and verbally abusing people in the street?" Stiles asked cuttingly, "breaking into people's houses, vandalism," as he started remembering all the details he started getting angrier and feeling more betrayed. He had told Derek everything about what had happened between him and Malia, and Derek had kept his own fucked up past hidden from him, "what the fuck is wrong with you?!"

Derek breathed in for a moment, and Stiles was waiting for the mans' calm resolve to snap, for him to lash out, but it didn't happen.

"When I was seventeen years old, I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder," Derek finally admitted, breaking the silence in the room, "and at the time, I couldn't afford the medication. So, instead, I roamed the streets angry at the world. Angry because of what I had been diagnosed with, angry because I couldn't afford the medication that was supposed to help me deal with it. Angry because nobody wanted to understand what was wrong with me because I was so angry all the time," he laughed at that then, "but, then, one day, I broke into an art gallery," he smiled, "Rudie was there. Instead of instantly throwing me out, or keeping me in and calling the police, he walked me around the art gallery, and told me the history of artists who had lead cold, cruel lives..."

He paused for a moment and Stiles wondered if Derek was about to snap. But then the man cleared his throat and looked Stiles in the eyes. There were tears brimming there, and Stiles found that he couldn't look away.

"He told me about these people saving themselves with their art," Derek said, "making a name for themselves so their woes and their illnesses came second to their talent. So, I got into art. I started taking classes, with my newfound lack of anger, I was able to get a job and start saving up for art school - that and the help of my parents money that was left to me in their wills..."

Stiles was hanging on every word, happy that the man was finally opening up, and that the story made sense to him. He had already known that majority of Derek's family was dead, it had been a part of the fact sheet that they handed out to people when they viewed his artwork.

"I came back to Beacon Hills once I was done at art school, which I never got a diploma for because I dropped out early - because I felt like I didn't need them anymore," Derek said, "which I admit I was cocky, but I was just lucky that I was able to create a few pieces that made a real impression on people. Before I knew it, I was making a small fortune. I put a desposite on a bit of land and started making blueprints for this place," he said, waving a hand around the room, "and I was also finally able to pay for my medication, without difficulty and without touching the money left to me by my parents."

Derek took a sip of hot chocolate, and Stiles continued to look at the man with a fresh perspective, a perspective he understood a lot more.

"Then, once I'd made it..." Derek sighed, "well. You know the rest. My logic was, why not help more people? Not so much to be like me, but just to get into the world. To make something of themselves. When they feel like they have nowhere else to turn - why not give them an alternative? Everyone deserves a chance to go far in life. It's not easy and I've never claimed it is. But...if you do it right...it's rewarding. The effort, the pressure, the literal sweat, blood and tears...it's all worth it."

"Then why mentor me?" Stiles asked, "art is just something I want to do with my life. It isn't my final chance, it isn't the alternative to losing my mind or dying. I have potential to be anything...I could be a writer. I could be a police officer," Stiles said, "I'm not trying to show off, but it's true. So, why me?"

Derek smiled, "because. I could see bits of myself in you. Potential, loss, emptiness. Art helped with all of that."

Instead of feeling insulted, it made sense to Stiles. He took a sip of his now just bordering on warm chocolate and rest back against the leather couch. All his anger was spent, and instead all that was left was a feeling of satisfaction with Derek's answer.

"I'm sorry I came barging in like that..." Stiles muttered, "hurricane Stiles, haha."

Derek shrugged, "that was nothing compared to hurricane Derek," he paused for a moment, "do you want to stay here for the night?" he asked, "I have a guest room that I don't mind-."

"Yes please," Stiles said, "I don't really feel like choking on my pride, and you know, admitting that I went a little crazy."

Derek nodded, "if you want, give me your dads' number, and I'll call him and tell you you're with me and you're safe."

Stiles shook his head, "he'll probably just lose his shit if he knows I'm with you."

Derek sighed, "that's a risk I'm willing to take, I want your dad to be able to have some form of sleep tonight, knowing that your wheels didn't take a spin on the wet road and land you in a ditch."

  
(***)

  
Derek lead Stiles to the spare room and gave him some dry clothes, which were a bit too big for Stiles considering that Derek was a lot more buff than he was. But he accepted the dry clothing gratefully and got changed in the ensuite bathroom connected to the guest bedroom.

When he got back out, Derek was just finishing up his phone call.

"I explained everything that had happened, and I even told your dad that I regularly take my medication and won't freak out on you," Derek said with an amused smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, "he says you still need to go to school tomorrow though, and that the only reason he isn't demanding you go back home is because of how bad the weather is."

Stiles nodded, "thank you, for everything - especially after I yelled at you like that."

Derek smiled, this time it was genuine, "no harm done - thank you for understanding and not treating me any differently because of my mental illness."

There was a loud crack of thunder, causing Stiles to jump slightly and the blood drain from his face. Derek looked at him with concern, "are you afraid of storms?" Derek asked, not sounding like he was mocking Stiles, just genuinely concerned and curious.

Stiles shrugged, "a little...just a little childish fear...nothing too big," another crack of thunder and Stiles ended up tripping on his own two feet and landing on his ass.

"You should go to bed," Derek said, "if you get too frightened though...come to my room. It's right across the hall."

Stiles nodded, grateful, but he told himself he wasn't going to freak out too much and that he was going to sleep and he'd be fine.

He walked up the stairs, feeling his face flame up with the embarrassment of having tripped like that in front of Derek. He headed to the guest room, closed the door behind him, and practically leapt onto the bed and buried himself under the covers, burying his head underneath so he didn't have to see the lightning flashing through the curtains, making odd shadows around the room.

Eventually, the storm died down and he was still wide awake. He had heard Derek's bedroom door close two hours earlier, so he knew the older man was already in bed.

He got out of his bed slowly and walked over to the bookshelf, which was filled with books. Art, history, even a random math book. He realized this must have been Derek's old text books from school, and he wondered why he would have possibly kept them. But, he didn't mind, he had an assignment due on the American revolution in history. He grabbed the history book which was the same one he had at home borrowed from the library and reached over to turn on the lamp next to the guest room bed.

The light didn't turn on.

He frowned, wondering if maybe the bulb was dead and Derek had forgotten to replace it. He walked over to the wall, over to the light switch which would turn on the main light, which he knew for a fact worked.

That didn't turn on either.

The power was out.

And just like that, another crack of thunder sounded, louder than the many ones before it, lightning filled up the room giving Stiles temporarily light that seemed to blind him. He fell against the door and hugged the history book to his chest, trying to breathe properly, the same breathing exercises he was told to do whenever he started having a panic attack - because that was what was happening - he was having a panic attack due to the storm.

His eyes were clamped tightly shut, and he was trying to breathe and ignore his loud surroundings. He was doing such a good job that he didn't realize that there was knocking on his door, until the door opened behind him and pushed him along the floor.

"Stiles? Are you alright?"

It was Derek, tall and pale against the dark wood of the door. Lighting flashed through the window again, causing Stiles to wince.

"Yeah," Stiles mumbled, "I'm fine," he lied, feeling pathetic.

Derek reached over to turn on the light, but only turned it off, he looked up at the globe, confused.

"The powers out," Stiles answered his questioning look, "I don't know how long it's been out for, but I was gonna read this book but-."

"If you're going to have a panic attack because of this storm, then I don't want you being alone, otherwise you'll start to hyperventilate and I won't be able to help," Derek said, he held out a hand and Stiles grabbed at it, almost like he was desperately filled with an embarrassing amount of need. He felt embarrassed about how grateful he was that Derek was taking control in this situation, but he told himself it was okay.

Derek walked him over to his room, tightly holding onto Stiles' hand, which normally Stiles wouldn't have paid much attention to, but he did in order to ignore the next clap of thunder that would have made him jump through the roof, he was sure.

"Close the door behind you if you want," Derek said, "if the door being open helps you breathe, or something like that, feel free to leave it open. I don't mind."

Stiles closed the door behind him, and sat down on the floor, crouched in the same position he had been in earlier. Instead of closing his eyes, however, he spent the time looking around Derek's room to distract him from the lightning, thunder and heavy rain.

The room was filled with art. Everywhere, paintings with Derek's familiar signature at the bottom of the canvas. Art pieces that he had seen in bars, and other pieces that had either never made it out in the big bad world, or pieces that Derek had simply kept for himself.

He hadn't gotten rid of all of his art. He just kept it very close to him, somewhere where others didn't venture to often within his home.

Around the rest of the room, there were other little things that told him more about Derek. There was a laptop on top of an expensive corner desk and shelves filled with books, photos of him and his sister sat on his set of drawers and the desk, also a collage of photos of him with other people, the backgrounds of the photos not really showing where they were posing, but Stiles somehow knew these people were past students he had mentored. People who had probably gotten somewhere in life, either with him being there the whole time for them, or Derek just being there and being the beginning of it all.

"Stiles, you can't sit on the floor forever," Derek said, sounding a little amused, "at least sit on the couch, or even my desk chair, if you're not comfortable with lying in or on my bed."

Stiles got up slowly and walked over to the love seat and curled up into a ball there, still clutching tightly onto the history book, which felt stupid, but it was keeping him in the present, and helping him focus on something other than the storm.

Another clap of thunder and a flash of lightning had Stiles sitting bolt upright, the history book falling from his hands.

Derek rushed over and pushed Stiles' legs up. He sat on the other side of the love seat and put Stiles' legs over his, so that Stiles was still stretched out on the love seat.

"Tell me about this-," Stiles couldn't hear the rest of what Derek had said due to an obnoxiously loud clap of thunder.

"What?!" Stiles asked, shouting over the wind that was now blowing against the window.

"Tell me about your fear of storms," Derek said when the noise started to calm down again, "because, honestly, you have quite a big reaction to them."

Stiles tried to relax, but between the storm and the casual way Derek was touching him, he couldn't seem to.

"I...it's a stupid story really," Stiles said, "I was a stupid kid, and I think I kind of went through a rebellious stage because of the fact that my mom died when I was so young."

Derek didn't say anything else, so Stiles assumed that Derek wanted him to continue.

"My mom had just died and everything just felt wrong in my life," Stiles said, "the last few months of my moms' life hadn't been the greatest, I mean, she was certifiably crazy, for sure," he said, swallowing and hoping that Derek didn't take offense to that, "but when she died, I still felt sad, and so did my dad, and I thought that my dad was never going to get over his sadness...I blamed myself for my moms' death, because, well, she'd said it was my fault she was losing her mind," he took a deep breath, "I thought maybe my dad would be less sad if I left...ran away and went looking for a new home...so I did."

Derek nodded for Stiles to continue. Stiles could feel his palms sweating slightly, and he wiped them on the pyjama pants he was wearing quickly before continuing.

"I ran off, I had no idea where I was going, but I just assumed the further away from my house, the better," he said, "but, I ended up getting caught in a storm, thunder and lightning...I remember lightning hitting one of the power lines and watching it start to spark and wondering if I was going to die too. I wondered if my mom would forgive me when I died and went up to Heaven. I remember screaming and crying and asking for my dad because I wasn't ready to see mom yet."

There was another clap of thunder, but Stiles ignored it. He was too focused on Derek's reactions as he spoke about what had happened.

"Then, I remember slipping in the mud, and for some reason being too scared to get up, waiting for lightning to strike me dead. Then, I heard sirens, and I felt myself being picked up and well...it was my dad, and he was wiping my face, mud and tears, and he was telling me everything was okay..." he sighed, "then I went to a therapist to talk about it, because my dad couldn't quite understand why I would run away like that. They put me on ADHD medication."

Stiles laughed at this, "so, you should have told me about your bipolar sooner, you're not the only one who has to take pills every morning to get by."

Derek nodded slowly, looking down at his hands which were resting on Stiles' knees.

The rain outside was still heavy and occasionally the wind would blow harshly, rattling the window slightly, but otherwise, it was quiet. No thunder, an occasional flash of lightning, but Stiles didn't feel scared anymore. He didn't feel stupid retelling his story either. The storm was no longer a threat.

"You're a good person Stiles," Derek said slowly, "I'm sorry you've been through so much crap."

Stiles smiled, "not your fault," he muttered, "just...luck of the draw I guess."

They continued to sit like that, and Stiles reached forward with his hand and grabbed onto Derek's, holding it and giving it a little squeeze.

"We're both a little bit fucked up, aren't we," Derek muttered. Stiles noticed that it wasn't really a question.

"Yeah," Stiles said, giving a small laugh, "but, we own it. We wear it well, and honestly, we should start wearing it with pride, rather than letting it sit in a closet, letting it gather dust."

Derek nodded, "I like that idea."

There was another clap of thunder, but the only other sound was Stiles' sharp intake of breath, and the sound of movement on the love seat.

"You okay?" Derek asked, his face a lot closer than it had been before.

Stiles bit his lip, "yeah," he set, setting his lip free, "I'm great."

He closed his eyes as he felt Derek's lips slowly press over his own. It was a soft chaste kiss, testing the waters, seeing if this moment would sink to the rocky bottom or float to the top. He squeezed Derek's hand as he started to pull away and Stiles leaned forward and kissed him softly, Derek's bottom lip between both of Stiles' own. It felt safe but dangerous in a way. It was an intoxicating feeling.

Derek pulled away, successfully this time, and looked down at Stiles' lips like he wanted to kiss him again, which Stiles hoped he did.

"Was that okay?" Derek asked, sounding worried. Stiles nodded again and kissed him.

Stiles didn't even notice the storm coming back, the rain getting heavier, the wind getting louder and the thunder so strong that the floor started to shake. It didn't matter, because in that moment all that mattered was the feeling of Derek against him, instead of the world.


End file.
